


The Diary

by Fabelhaft (Blue_Blood_Monarch)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: FRIDAY loves Tony, Friday is a good bro, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony is very depressed, Trigger Warning for depression, pepper is a good bro, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 22:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16273421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Blood_Monarch/pseuds/Fabelhaft
Summary: Tony suggers the fallout of the 'Civil War'Or, Tony is depressed and can't bring himself to get out of bed.





	The Diary

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPRESSION!

_“I fuckin' swear that I care_

_But its hard when you stare_

_Into the bottom of a bottle_

_That is empty and bare_

_All my desolate soul_

_In my desolate home_

_It's my desolate role_

_Yeah I'm here all alone_

_I can't think of a reason_

_To get the fuck out of bed_

_Curtains closed, lights are off_

_Am I alive or dead?_

_I haven't shaved in a week_

_I always slur when I speak_

_Tolerance at its peak_

_Another fit just to sleep_

_Oh woe is me woe is me_

_I guess I need love_

_Hoes ya see hoes ya see_

_I'm just in a rut_

_And I swear I'm tryin' baby please_

_Baby don't leave_

_God-damn I'm a fuck-up_

_But I guess that's just me_

_So I sit in my room_

_And I'll cry in my bed_

_Thinkin' about all the shit_

_That made me wrong in my head_

_I keep tryin' to climb_

_But it seems so steep_

_Pour myself a fuckin' whisky_

_And go back to sleep, bitch”_

\- The Diary, Hollywood Undead

 

Tony’s chest had suffered a great deal in his lifetime. From being ripped savagely by the shrapnel, cut open and sections removed to make room for the toxic arc reactor that was just _so heavy_ sometimes it felt like it would sink down his chest, that his skin just wasn’t strong enough- _he_ wasn’t strong enough. It suffered the burden of the iron man armour, as heavy and painful as it was spectacular and awe-some, suffered the cutting blow of Roger’s shield. That had been the worse, he thought, but, then, Tony had a gift, a curse, for attracting evils worse than the last, and his chest was no different, because each wound, each blow, each trauma it suffered, was worse than the last.

 

So he should have expected this. After all, why would now be any different? Just because he couldn’t _imagine_ anything worse than what the Captain had done to him didn’t mean it didn’t _exist_. Because it did, and it was so much worse, in so many different ways.

 

Because now it felt like Mjölnir was on his chest, trapping him, dragging him down, and _he couldn’t move_. He was drowning in his own mind. He felt trapped, restricted, and drained, so drained. So tired.

 

Depressed.

 

That’s what his therapist had said. Cautiously, like the word would tip him over the edge (as if Steve’s- _Rodgers_ ’- unashamed betrayal hadn’t done that) into the chaos and bitterness he knew he was capable of. Into vengeance, hatred. But he wasn’t any of that, not anymore. He was just so _tired_ , so weary.

 

And so completely and utterly done.

 

Every breath, every second, _hurt_ and he just wanted it to _stop_. He didn’t want to hurt anymore. He was tired of lying there, in his bed, room dark, empty whisky bottles littering the floor, as dangerous as they were tempting.

 

Oh so tempting, and what was the point of resisting anymore?

 

What was the point of _anything_ , anymore, he wondered. What was the point in showering? In bringing himself to stand, to acknowledge the pathetic and weak state he was in? _Howard would be proud,_ he snorted, closing his eyes. _‘Stark men are made of iron’, huh? Yeah, well, iron’s nothing compared to vibranium, old man_ , he thought bitterly, rolling on his side and curling into a ball. His eyes felt swollen, and he knew that’d they’d be red- from crying and the alcohol- and he wanted to cry some more, his catharsis far from complete- after all, he had so much to let out, because he’d kept it all bottled up for his whole life in typical Stark fashion but now he just didn’t care- but he couldn’t. Even his own body was betraying him, it seemed.

 

It felt symbolic, really. A symbol for his emotional hollowness, his emptiness. He had nothing- he felt empty, and his life felt empty.

 

He felt alone. Misunderstood.

 

Were you even alive if you were as numb as he was, unable to feel?

 

Sighing heavily, he rolled onto his back, sprawling out, eyes fixed on the ceiling. _You’re pathetic,_ the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Howard spat.

 

_I know_. And, God, did he know. He didn’t want to be like this, didn’t want to let Rodgers get to him so much, but he just didn’t have the energy, the will, to fight it anymore. He just didn’t. Not on days like this, that seemed to drag out into weeks.

 

Sometimes he felt like he was okay, that the therapy was helping and he was good. But there were days, weeks, months, like these where it just hit him and he couldn’t bring himself to hide behind his usual facades.

 

How long had it been since that killing blow had been landed? Since his heart was cut out of his chest? Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago, other times like only seconds. This was one of those days.

 

“Boss, you’ve been shut in your room for three days now,” Friday prompted, hesitantly. “I really must insist you leave and socialse.” She sounded scared, bless her, and who would have thought but that send a twinge of guilt and self-loathing right through him, as vicious as wildfire. She was so caring. So human. He was proud of her, and the realisation struck him, thawing the edges of the frozen cavity within his chest, affection and love warming him briefly. But that too went almost as quick as it came, and he was left empty and longing.

 

He sighed again, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I know, baby girl, I know,” he croaked, throat dry and hoarse. “I’m just not feeling up to it right now.”

 

“I know, boss, but Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are growing concerned, and, quite frankly, so am I.” Tony smiled slightly. Good old Pepper and Rhodey; they were the only constants, other than his bots and Friday, that he could depend on. That would _always_ be there for him, just as he swore to always be there for them.

 

“Okay, okay,” he relented, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can let them in.” He just didn’t want to get up yet and face the world. It was easier if they came here, if he could pretend that this was normal, that it was okay.

 

But it wasn’t okay. _He_ wasn’t okay, and it didn’t feel like he ever would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy
> 
> So I was listening to this song and it kinda hit me how I can relate it so much to Tony, and thus this fic was born! Lol
> 
> Might turn into a multichapter fic, but we'll see. My motivation has been at an all time low recently to be honest.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!  
> Leave those kudos down below ;)


End file.
